Chapter 1

“You’re alive,” I tell my best friend, Kelvin Foxford, sitting next to him in his BMW X5’s front seat. Blood creases his forehead where it smacked off the steering wheel because he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt during the car accident.

“Where are we? What happened?” he mumbles, sounding groggy, almost drunk.

“Closer to Erie Lake than Pittsburgh. Outside a little town called Frozentoe. We slid on some ice, and your BMW crashed into a snowdrift. Some damage is done to the car. It might not be drivable, but the engine is still running. Thank God we’re both alive.”

He gently shakes his head, confused. “What day and year is it, Joey?”

“You tell me.” I want to learn if he has brain damage or a minor concussion, something critical. Although this is useless information since there probably isn’t a hospital or medical facility around for the next ten to fifteen miles.

“I don’t know. Why do you think I asked you?”

“January 21. It’s 2019.”

“Is that asshole Trump still president?” Kel is always up for insulting our president, which tells me he’s fine, perfectly unharmed.

I roll my eyes. “Unfortunately.” I hold up two fingers in front of his face. “What do you see?”

He laughs. “Two little dicks. They’re the same size as yours. Are you going to have a threesome?”

“Good to know you still have your sense of humor, even if you’re brain dead.”

His right hand finds his forehead. “I’m bleeding to death. Call 911. I need a hospital. There’s so much blood. You know how I hate blood.”

“You’re being dramatic. It’s just a little cut. Nothing shocking.”

He groans. “I’m an Academy Award winner, don’t forget.”

Kelvin Brian Foxford isn’t, but he’s always wanted to be. Truth is, he’s just a local Pittsburgh actor who does car commercials and other acting gigs in his spare time. When he’s not acting, he works at a gym.

“Remember my winning role with Emily Blunt?”

I roll my eyes again. “How have I put up with you as my best friend? I should have ditched you a dozen years ago.”

He finds napkins in the plastic console between us. “It’s never a dull moment with me, that’s why. I’m Batman with some queer in me.” He chuckles, dabbing napkins to his forehead. “You should see my balls. They’re superhero steel and unbreakable.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to see your balls. Thanks for the opportunity, though.” I try my cellphone. No signal. No bars. Nothing. “There’s no cellular connection,” I inform him. “And it’s still snowing.”

White layers of thick snow blow down from the heavens. Wind sounds as if it scratches against the vehicle’s expensive metal. The temperature inside the car begins to promptly drop.

“We’re fucking stupid, Joey. Once it started snowing, we should have stayed in Pittsburgh. This was a crazy thing to do.”

He’s right. But Nelson Quest, our mutual friend, is having a bachelor’s party tomorrow night at The Dude Ranch, a queer bar in downtown Erie, next to the lake. Lots of alcohol. Kitty Kat Meow, the drag queen, is supposed to sing with a slew of male strippers. Rumor has it, there will be three hustlers to do whatever with, and a back room where God-only-knows what will happen among naked men. We’re on the guest list. And Kel just happens to be his best man. There’s no way we can’t show up for the function. This is why we decided to leave the city during the heavy snowstorm. If we don’t attend the party, we both know it will be a sure slap to Nelson’s face.

The BMW dies. Its engine abruptly cuts off. The lights are buried in the snowdrift, semi-illuminating the white ice and powder.

Kel tries the engine. “The car won’t start,” he says, disgusted.

“Of course, it won’t start. Half the engine is in the snow. We hit a sheet of ice and then the snowdrift, going twenty miles per hour.”

He lets out a roaring explicative and slams a palm against the steering wheel. “We’re going to freeze to death in this car! The sun is dropping, and so is the temperature. We’ll be dead in just a few hours.”

Kel’s not an angry guy. He honestly can’t be because he works with the public as a weight trainer at a private gym called Battle On. I can say this since we’ve been friends for the last dozen years. He rarely, if ever, becomes upset. Truth is, I think he’s far too handsome to become irate, even when he tries. He’s bulky with lots of muscle, sports a brown crew cut, and has green eyes any man can willingly fall into, and for. At thirty-nine, six-one, just over 160 pounds of chiseled meat, and one year older than me, Kel’s relationships haven’t worked out in the past. Mostly, he moves from one man and bed to the next, uncommitted. I don’t think any man can hold him down. If one does, though, it’s the right guy for Kel, his soul mate.